


Inside Information

by thesecretarchivist



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Eventual Fluff, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mild Smut, Non-Consensual Violence, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slight Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 12:38:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5708401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesecretarchivist/pseuds/thesecretarchivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When –", he croaked. His voice cracked. "When will he –"<br/>Poe gave up. The pain in his throat was prohibitive.<br/>"When will he be back? Is that what you want to ask me?"<br/>The man sounded calm, collected, with barely a hint of satisfaction. "But he will not come back, Mr Dameron. You gave him all he needed."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inside Information

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Hux is an evil space fascist, but sometimes red hair overrules it all. However, inside that head it's rather dark, so please pay attention to the tags and proceed with caution.

Poe felt – _weightless_ , almost floating.

Then, slowly, the pain seeped in, and grounded him. It came with breathing, inhale and exhale, every breath of air a hiss of pain.

It woke him up.

It was impossible to breathe the way he normally did, the pain blocked it, somewhere, and then he became conscious enough to be able to locate it: _chest_. Pain in his chest, and immediately afterwards a sharper pain, his skin on fire here and there. This he could interpret easily, cuts and bruises, skin chafed raw against cold steel. On his face, the dryness of caked blood. Poe tried to will himself back to sleep, but the blissful haze in his mind had already started to dissolve.

He leaned his head against the rack.

_I'm back in the ring._

 

There was light in the room, harsh light, it had hurt him earlier – but now, as he blinked, he could keep his eyes open wide enough to take in what was in front of him. There was nothing, except for a man. Poe's head was too foggy yet for real fear, he looked again and saw a red-haired man and thought (he must have imagined it) that the man on the chair in the corner was touching himself.

 

Poe squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. The man sat there, hands folded in his lap. _Curious_. It was not the masked freak who had been there before. It was some colourless military man, well, colourless except for his neatly parted ginger hair.

It was not someone Poe had seen before. Or had he?

He could not remember for the world, since the pain in his head was finally back, a steady pounding ache in the background and a burning pain behind his temples. The kind of pain he imagined a drill would leave behind when boring into your head. Which was, more or less, what he remembered of the matter.

 

It must have been that he fell asleep after all, because first there was nothing and then there was a hand against his cheek. He flinched, panicking, but the hand was warm and human, unlike the gloved claw that had dug into his brain. This hand felt good, and for a horrible moment Poe let his head sink against it - _no_.

_There is nothing good about this._

He shook his head, felt how the movement made him dizzy, but the hand went away. The small victory gave him power. Poe's sight cleared and he looked up, defiantly, into the pale face in front of him. Clear eyes met his.

"When –", he croaked. His voice cracked. "When will he –"

Poe gave up. The pain in his throat was prohibitive.

"When will he be back? Is that what you want to ask me?"

The man sounded calm, collected, with barely a hint of satisfaction. "But he will not come back, Mr Dameron. You gave him all he needed."

Poe shuddered, suddenly freezing. _I broke. How could I forget._

"You are in pain."

The man's hand came back to settle on his shoulder. Moved up to rest against his neck, feeling for his pulse.

_My pulse?_

"I will send someone in to take care of you. Later."

"Go fuck yourself."

The man gave a wry smile. So, this was obviously not the guy with the blaster, the one in charge of finishing it. Poe could have known, really. The voice was educated, posh even. The uniform had a sheen to it, _fuck_ , now he noticed the stripes, though he could not place them. He _should_ have known this was someone from higher up. _Some stuck-up pervy officer_.

A sickening feeling rose in him, rose from his stomach to his throat. Made him gag, made him cough. The cough hurt more than it should, which did not help.

The man had moved away from Poe. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a proud neck, locked into the high collar of his dark grey tunic.

He activated a mechanism in the wall, and some appliance spat out a cup and filled it up with water. The cup was placed against Poe's lips and Poe, struggling with himself for the briefest moment, allowed himself to drink. It was the best drink he had ever had, the water sweet and cool. It almost made him cry. Now he tasted the bitterness in his mouth, the rusty dryness, the sour leftovers of whatever his stomach had not managed to keep down.

The man did not look at him as he refilled the cup. Set it against Poe's lips, and Poe drank again. The "Thanks" escaped him before he could bite it back. It made him sick all over again.

"No need for that."

"I _know_ there's no _need_." Poe's throat still hurt, but the burning pain was almost gone. "It's what they call being civil, you know? Makes us better than you."

"You are in no way better than me."

Poe watched as the officer took the cup back to that niche in the wall, placed it inside and let the little hatch snap closed again.

When he turned, his expression was unreadable.

"You are rebel scum, and worse than that: just scum."

"Whatever pleases you."

"Perhaps", he said, approaching. "Perhaps it does."

His eyes were a cool green, and for some reason the colour became linked in Poe's mind with the cool drink of water he just had. He couldn't help noticing, now, the faint smell of aftershave, or even perfume the officer was wearing, a standard, nondescript smell that only added to his overall air of cleanliness. No individualism here, and yet Poe felt disturbed by the angular perfection this man was exuding. _He is getting into my head. This is all a mind game_.

"Ok, whatever. You said I spilled it all, too bad. You got the intel, fine, work with it. What else do you want?"

"What do _I_ want?"

The officer smiled, no, not a smile. A sneer.

The hand on Poe's chest was gentle, though. It touched his jacket, slid under it, careful, examining. _Very warm._ Poe reminded himself it was all a mind game, kept breathing as best as he could. Forced himself to hold the man's gaze, even as the hand touched on his fractured ribs. He couldn't quite suppress a hiss as the hand moved, and applied pressure on broken bones. He imagined, at that, a spark in those green eyes.

"Ribs break so easily", the officer said casually. "Quite the weak spot, I should think. They say you can crack your rib with a cough."

"Or you could kick a man in the gut. Same effect."

The man _smiled_. His hand moved over Poe's abdomen, to where the fabric of his shirt had clung to a small cut when the blood had dried. The pain had stopped, but flared up as the wound was touched. A finger hovered over it. "What's this?"

"You tell me."

The man brought his other hand up to Poe's face. A soft finger with a faintly soapy smell touched Poe's lip.

"You are rather brave, you know."

For a second Poe was left wondering, then the hand on his belly ripped fabric and clotted blood off the wound and Poe felt fresh blood well up from the cut. His pained moan was stifled by fingers pushed into his mouth, hard, curling into a fist. Pushing, even as Poe had fallen silent.

"Very brave, indeed."

Poe felt the man's breath against his neck. Then the hand slid out of his mouth, and Poe gulped for air. Looked into cool green eyes.

" _Fuck. You._ "

The man stepped over to the wall and hit a switch on the intercom. "Medical", he ordered. "Down here. Now."

He turned and looked at Poe. At Poe's shirt, rather, where red warmth was slowly soaked up by brown fabric. A tortured expression crossed his face, he strode to the chair in the corner and sat there and did not look up at Poe's face until the door slid open a few moments later.

 

A thin young medical officer with an emergency kit and what looked like a med-scanner stood in the door. Walked in, then hesitated as he looked at the red-haired officer. "General Hux?"

_What?_

"Patch him up, will you?"

Poe looked straight forward as the doctor's gloved hand rolled up his shirt, cleaned and disinfected the bleeding cut with professional efficiency. He did not flinch as a tiny stapler stitched it up. Across the room, his eyes met clear, green eyes. Beautiful eyes in a handsome face. _Aw, this_ is _fucked up_.

Poe looked down on himself. A neat transparent bandage. Lots of bruises, blue and black. The med-scanner moved over him with a humming noise.

"Several fractured ribs", the doctor said matter-of-factly. He turned towards Hux. "Merely cracked, though. Breathe."

It took a moment for Poe to realise this was meant for him. The doctor gave him a withering look. "I told you to _breathe_."

Poe tried.

"Not like that. Take a deep breath."

Poe did, and the pain of it almost made him sick. For a moment he thought he would faint, darkness closing in. When he could see clearly again, the doctor was peering into his face.

"Left or right?", the man asked.

Poe considered this, and it occurred to him that anyone trained in medicine who was serving the First Order had to be, per definition, a very twisted individual. He did not answer, bracing for the worst. The man stared at him blankly, then stooped to the left to unscrew something on the frame of the rack. A needle shot out, and buried itself in Poe's upper arm. _Here we go_. Poe stared at the wall while the medic took something from his kit, shook it, and placed it on the little tube he had unscrewed. Squeezed, and Poe heard the sound of liquid being sucked into – whatever. He held his breath and waited. From the corner of his eye, he could see Hux crossing his legs.

Nothing bad happened.

He waited some more.

 _Nothing_.

Sometimes, nothing is the best possible outcome.

When he thought no one was looking, Poe breathed a soundless sigh of relief. And found it didn't hurt to breathe. _Wow_. His chest didn't hurt. That was good, right?

"I'm done here, General. Unless there is anything else you require."

Hux stood. "No. Thank you."

"I can send down a droid." The medical officer looked at Poe, then at Hux, who shook his head.

"That will not be necessary. Just leave those bacta pads."

"General."

The door closed behind him with a hiss.

 

" _General_." Poe grinned like a fool. He felt totally himself again, confident to the point of being cocky. "I'm so honored I'd salute you if my hand was free. And here I figured you were one of those, what's the word, _minions_."

"Did you like my hand on you?"

Hux stood there, neat and clean, First-Order-conformity head to toe.

Poe laughed out loud. "I have a theory, actually. Being around the dark side for too long messes with your head. People go insane. Like you, in case you missed the punchline."

Hux turned away to pick up one of the bacta pads. He tore the wrapping and took out the pad. It was white and soft, the size of a palm. Poe was still laughing.

"Hold still."

"You're a funny one, honestly."

"Please."

The word shocked him into silence. Hux touched the pad against Poe's temple, cleaning blood and grime from his skin. Then he leaned in, delicately touching the pad around Poe's eye, avoiding contact with his lashes. "I meant what I said before. I like – your bravery." Hux' voice was soft and low. "The way you resisted him. The way you fought. I would have liked to see him fail." Hux dropped the pad, but did not move away. And then he _did_ , and Poe could see the effort it cost him.

The general's voice changed to his usual clipped tones as he stood, two steps away, face turned to the wall. "You know, Lord Ren informed me in some detail about his findings. It must be rather fascinating, disturbing even, to go through people's minds like that." His hands clasped behind his back. "Well, as I reminded you, he got what he wanted. And then he found some more."

"Yeah", said Poe. "Whatever."

And then, after a second of letting this sink, all the craziness made sudden sense to him and the thought that filled his mind was one huge _fuck_.

"Perhaps I started out wrong. My experience is limited, but I'll learn." Hux turned quickly, crossed the distance between them. "Used to be top of my class." Poe's breath hitched as Hux' right hand suddenly cupped his balls, the left lightly resting on Poe's hip.

He tensed. "You. Are. Insane."

Hux moved his hand, tentatively, and was rewarded with a low moan. _Damn you_. _Damn myself._

"Am I?"

 _Yes_. But to his horror, Poe found himself breathing the clean, aseptic smell of Hux' perfume. There was something comforting about the man's cleanliness, and he couldn't deny the hand on his cock felt good. _In a very sick way_. He pulled himself together, thinking, _This is only a way of getting into my head_. And it is _totally wrong_.

"You like this", Hux whispered. His hand moved up. He closed his fingers around Poe's cock as best as he could over his pants. "You like this _so much_." He looked up at Poe, and there was something unexpected in his eyes, neither cruelty nor the wish to manipulate. _Honesty_ , thought Poe, or something that came close. _Desire_. _Shame_.

Then Hux' eyelids closed, so white they seemed transparent, red lashes fluttering. "You really like this", he whispered against Poe's cheek, "you filthy _scum_."

Poe could feel the man tremble, but this was just ridiculous. "Oh, please. One of your favorite words, is it? Scum? You get off on it or what?"

Whoa, Hux was _shaking_. He stood back, his hands no longer on Poe, his back unnaturally straight. Eyes fixed just below Poe's.

"Tell me, Mr Dameron. I see you have no problems expressing yourself. Just tell me – what you do. You – people."

Poe, momentarily distracted by the way Hux' breeches were artfully wrapped around at the knee to fit into his shiny boots, looked up and frowned.

"My people? Who, the Resistance?"

Hux struck him across the face. It was a hard, measured strike, and he hadn't seen it coming.

"WHAT? Oh –. Wait! Listen –"

Hux reached out, roughly grabbed Poe's chin and pushed his head back against the rack. "No", he said, "not the Resistance." Then his expression changed again, he let go and softly touched Poe's lip, a finger on broken skin. And then, agonisingly slowly, he leaned forward and brushed his lips over Poe's mouth. It was not a kiss. It was hardly a touch. Poe felt the violent urge to grab the man's hair and pull him close.

"Do that again", he whispered. It came out before he could think. He felt Hux' eyes, but did not look up from the man's lips. "I did not mean to make fun of you. I was just – being a dick."

Hux let out a shuddering breath. He closed his eyes. Their lips touched, barely.

"Again."

He felt Hux' hands on his shoulders, Hux' soft lips on his own, long enough this time to gently touch them with his tongue. And then, Hux' lips parted for him. It was Poe who trembled as he pushed his tongue into Hux' mouth, drawing a desperate hiss from the man. Oh, this was exquisite. This was unexpectedly sweet and rough and completely, utterly insane. He pulled back and licked Hux lips. _Smooth as silk_. He allowed himself the thought that the man's cock would be just so, silky, with a faint taste of First Order standard issue soap.

"I want to touch you. Just that."

Hux rubbed against him, hands fumbling with Poe's leather belt, reaching into his fly. Poe leaned into his touch, sighing with pleasure. Breathing hard as Hux took him in his hand, respectfully, or that was how it felt. One hand on Poe's balls, the other on his cock, stroking, teasing him, playing with him. Trapping him in a fist. Poe whimpered. "Don't stop."

Hux pushed his hips forward, leaving no doubt where he stood. Poe decided there and then, no matter how wrong, he was going to have this, and no holds barred. Hux' heavy belt was in the way. And the man's breeches. And everything else.

"Let me see you. Please."

Hux looked at him, green eyes shining. " _Please_ is it now?" A lovely blush coloured the general's face as he was struggling to open his own breeches, not an easy feat with his hard cock stuck inside. And then it popped out, and Poe moaned at the sight, moaned at not being able to touch that sweet pink thing, touch it, hold it –

He forgot his regret as the lovely thing was pushed against his own hardness, rubbing against him, silky and hard and wet and mindblowing.

 

And suddenly there was no touch at all.

Poe opened his eyes and looked up.

Looked down.

Gave a yelp as Hux' lips closed around his cock.

Hux on his knees on the floor of the interrogation room, red hair touching Poe's belly, and Poe stifled a scream as Hux' licked his tongue along the length of his cock. Flicked it over the tip, then sucked him into his mouth again. Poe's hips bucked against him, helplessly. Yes, this was torture. Oh, how he wished he could touch the man, stroke his hair, slide a hand into Hux' neck and hold him there, teach him what filthy _really_ meant. But cruelty was not Poe's nature, not even in thought, and Hux' gentle ministrations where the best thing that had happened to him in a very long time. He came in Hux' fist, the man on his knees before him, one hand on Poe, the other on himself.

Hux watched as Poe came, looking up to him, mesmerised by the magic his touch had worked. Then he dropped his eyes as he jacked himself off, undignified, against the floor.

 

_"I am not a brave man, Mr Dameron. And I am only one."_

_"What are you talking about?"_

_"I am not brave, I am not. I_ know _I am not."_

_Poe leaned back against the rack. There was a pain in his chest that had nothing to do with broken ribs._

_"Shut up", he said. His voice sounded weird. "I mean it."_

 

**Author's Note:**

> This owes a debt to wolfhalls' "broken wishbones under my bed" and black_nata' s "renholder", also on this archive. Consider them recommended reading.


End file.
